


Losing Face

by casey_writes_domestic_fluff



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ALSO I KNOW THIS SOUNDS DARK AND IT IS BUT ITS NOT AS BAD AS IT SOUNDS I PROMISE, Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Projecting Onto GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Bisexual Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Caretaking, Cheating, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Friends to Lovers, Gaslighting, Gay GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Gentle Kissing, Healing, Homophobic Language, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Disordered Eating, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Insecure GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Internalized Homophobia, Intimacy, Jealous Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Jealousy, Kissing, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Moving In Together, Moving On, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OK IM ABOUT TO LIST POTENTIAL TRIGGERS BUT THEY ARE NOT BETWEEN DREAM AND GEORGE I PINKY PROMISE, OK THOSE ARE ALL THE POTENTIAL TRIGGERS BACK TO REGULAR TAGS NOW, Physical Abuse, Pining, Pining Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Cuddling, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Protectiveness, Recovery, Secret Crush, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Coercion, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slut Shaming, Songfic, Suicide Attempt, Supportive Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Sympathetic Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Temporarily Unrequited Love, Use Your Words, i will live and die by that tag, kind of lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey_writes_domestic_fluff/pseuds/casey_writes_domestic_fluff
Summary: “You. Are. Nothing. You are nothing and you always will be.” He spits the words, fist poised above George’s bloodied face.“Get the fuck away from him.”John turns around to find a tall, blonde man with vengeful eyes. He chuckles, releasing his grip on George’s hair, leaving him to slump against the wall.“So you’re Dream, then? I’ve heard a lot about you.”- - -Or, the one where George is in an abusive relationship and Dream will stop at nothing to convince him that he deserves better.- - -Fic and chapter titles from the song "Losing Face" by Wilbur Soot
Relationships: Clay | Dream & CeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/OMC
Comments: 63
Kudos: 261





	1. you know the way I can be

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimer: Both Dream and George have publicly consented to slash fiction. If they ever change their mind, I will delete this work without hesitation. Other CCs mentioned in here have either consented to or have never spoken about their feelings toward SFW, non-shipping portrayals in fanworks, but if that changes, I will be more than happy to edit them out.  
> Also, please note that this is all in good fun. I do not actually ship dnf (like, I think they would be cute if they ever _did_ decide to date but I’m not actively rooting for it). I understand that both George and Dream publicly identify as straight (Worded that way not to imply that they are not, in fact, straight, but rather to enforce that anything beyond their own public ID is irrelevant. We have no right to comment on, make assumptions about, or accuse someone of lying about their sexuality. it’s a dick move and way too close to outing).  
> Additional note: This story is potentially triggering. There will be trigger warnings before each chapter and all potential triggers will be in the tags. I do not want anyone to be upset by this story. I do not include graphic depictions of the abusive actions themselves, rather focusing on the psychological effects of abuse in order to prevent romanticisation, but even still, this could be triggering. This is just my way of dealing with the things I've experienced throughout my life. I am completely projecting onto both Dream and George here. I will try to avoid romanticisation of abuse and the god-awful "damsel in distress" trope, but at the end of the day, this is a hurt/comfort romance fic, so there will likely be some amount of "saving." If you ever think it's too romanticised, please feel free to let me know in the comments and I will try my best to fix it.  
> Furthermore, I want to reiterate that if any of the involved CCs mention that anything in this work would be triggering to them, it will be either taken down or edited immediately, depending on what exactly is triggering. If any of you notice that I accidentally included something that a CC has mentioned is triggering/makes them uncomfortable, please feel free to let me know in the comments and I will fix it immediately.

tw: emotional abuse, manipulation, dubcon kissing, implied dubcon sex

Stones materialise in George’s stomach as he hears the front door open. “Alright guys, it’s getting pretty late here. I’m gonna go make some dinner. Thanks for tuning in to my stream! I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Confused emotes flood the chat before he ends the stream.  
“Oh, uh,” George hears Dream fumble to mute his stream. “Is something wrong?”  
“No, no. I’m just hungry.”  
“Oh, uh, okay.” Dream sounds confused, but he doesn’t push. “Well, bye. I love you.”  
“Bye, Dream.”  
“John,” he calls out, pushing his office door open.  
He finds John on the couch, beer in hand, watching Netflix. “Hey baby, come sit,” he calls over his shoulder.  
George sits next to him on the couch, cuddling into his chest. “What’cha watching?”  
“Planet Earth,” he replies, calmly slipping his hand down to grab George’s ass. He just holds his hand there, not trying to start anything but rather to prove that his ownership.  
George steals himself and, in his most gentle tone, says, “You know I love having you here. But we have rules for a reason. You have to text me before you come over so I can end my stream, ok?”  
John’s body tenses perceptibly, his nails digging into George’s thighs. “Sorry, I forgot that you’re embarrassed of me.”  
“I’m not embarrassed of you. I’m just not ready to come out to all of those people, ok? It would be hell for both of us.”  
“Yeah. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your DreamNotFound highlight reels.”  
A look of disbelief crosses George’s pale face. “That is _so_ not what this is about.”  
“Really? Then why won’t you tell your stream?” John demands.  
George sighs, brushing his knuckles lovingly against John’s cheek. “I told you, I love my stans more than anything but they’re intense. They would scrutinise every aspect of our relationship and I’m just not ready for that.”  
“Sure. Of course,” John huffs.  
George sits up, feeling small and suffocated. “What the hell is wrong with you lately?”  
John sits up, too, and even like this, he towers above George. He grabs his chin hard and forces George to look into his eyes. “You. You are what’s wrong with me.” He closes the gap between them too quickly, crashing their lips together. George tries to pull away, but the hand on his jaw holds him in place. John bites hard at his lip, taking advantage of George’s pained gasp and pushing his tongue into his mouth. It’s all wrong, all red, hot anger. It’s not what a kiss should be, and George wants out of it.  
He pushes against John’s chest until he finally lets go. George springs up from the couch instantly, stance defensive, backing instinctively toward the door.  
John stands, too, looming over George’s small frame. “That was a kiss.”  
“I didn’t _want_ a kiss right then, and I certainly didn’t want you to hold my face down while you drew blood,” he says, swiping his thumb over his lip and bringing it back bloody.  
“Bullshit,” John murmurs, stepping ever closer to George. He mimics George, brushing his thumb softly over his boyfriend’s bloodied lip. He holds his gaze as he gently presses his thumb inside George’s mouth. “God, baby, you make me so crazy. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”  
George feels nauseous. He just wants to get out of this situation, to sit back down on the couch, and watch Planet Earth, and not feel so pathetic all of the time. “I love you, too.”  
“I think you owe me an apology, baby.”  
George drops his gaze to the floor. He just has to get through this. He just has to swallow his pride and get through this because that’s what relationships are, right? Compromise. Give and take. “I…I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for coming over during my stream. I know you just missed me.”  
John smiles, leaning closer, so close that George can smell the beer on his breath, and whispers, “Make me believe it.” He pushes George to his knees, ignoring the tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked that. That's about as descriptive as the abuse scenes will get by the way and all sexually abusive/coersive scenes will take place outside of the story itself (like how it was implied in the last line but not actually shown). Sorry if I'm, like, over-trigger-warning-ing this haha, I'm just nervous because I've never really written a serious fic before and I don't want anyone to have a bad time :)) 
> 
> Comments give me happy chemicals <3333


	2. but now I break against the dirt, along with our cafés

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George stays up late online with Dream. John isn't pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: (inaccurate) accusations of cheating, (inaccurate) slut shaming, possessive behaviour, physical abuse (slapping)

"NONONONONONONONO YES!" George screams as he gets the final hit off on Dream, on half a heart himself.  
Dream wheezes while George screams about how amazing he is. He hears a door open in the background. At first, he assumes it's Mocha, George's cat, or Darla, his dog, but then he hears George's breathing pick up.  
"I've got to go," he whispers, promptly leaving the call without so much as a goodbye.  
Dream tries to ignore the hurt desperately clawing its way up through his chest. Somebody had come over at nearly two o’clock in the morning and George had left him immediately. Dream tried not to jump to any conclusions but based on the information he had, there was only one logical explanation.  
This was bound to happen eventually. Dream knew that. He thought he was prepared for it. But really, how could he be? How can one ever be prepared for a sledgehammer to the chest, for the shatter of their ribs and the way the shards puncture their lungs. The feeling of drowning in your own blood and of watching yourself die. How can one ever prepare to watch the love of their life find someone else?  
The pain is unbearable, but Dream shoves in down, so far below his heart, down to the knotted pits of his stomach where he keeps the memories he wishes he had.  
Dream falls into bed and lets his eyes drift shut, praying the night will bring visions of George, but when he wakes, he remembers nothing but darkness.  
\- - -  
“John?” George calls, creeping out of his office.  
“George.” John leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dangerous. “I thought you said you were having an early night.”  
“Yeah. Yeah.” George fumbles for an explanation. “Couldn’t sleep, decided to play some games.”  
“You should have called me.”  
George cocks his head, feigning confusion. “I don’t see why. We’ve spent every night this week together.”  
John stalks closer, towering over George’s small frame. “Who were you talking to?”  
George cowers before him. “Just Dream,” he rasps, throat arid. “We were planning out the storyline for next week’s streams.  
“You were talking to _Dream_ ,” he spits the word out like it burns, “at _two o’clock in the morning_.”  
“Yeah, we always talk late. It’s the time difference. It’s only, like, nine there.”  
John’s cool facade shatters, the rage tainting his words. “I can’t believe this! You’re lying right to my fucking face.”  
“What?” George is genuinely confused now. He knows that John wanted to spend the night with him, and he shouldn’t have ignored him like he had, but he why would he lie about who he was on call with? “I’m not lying to you. I was on call with Dream. You can check my Discord if you want.”  
“Not about that.” John edges impossibly closer to George, almost stepping on his toes. George tries to back up but only ends up trapped against the wall. “I’m sure you were talking to Dream. You’re always talking to Dream.”  
“Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend.” Then, hoping to sound less suspicious (of what, he isn’t entirely sure), he adds, “He’s my business partner.”  
“Are you fucking him?”  
George’s jaws drops as he tries to process what he’s hearing. “ _What?_ ” is the most eloquent sentence he can form at the moment. He sputters for a moment. “What are you even talking about? He lives in _Florida_!”  
“Oh, like that would stop you. I bet you’re whoring yourself out for him on those late night video calls, aren’t you?”  
“John, what the _fuck_ are you on about? Dream is my best friend. We would never, _ever_ —”  
“Shut up!” he yells, shoving George harder against the wall. “Shut the fuck up! All you do is lie, you stupid fucking—”  
George doesn’t hear the end of that sentence over the ringing in his ear as John’s palm makes first contact. This is the first time he’s ever really…  
George slumps against the wall in a daze. He fixes his eyes on a point across the room, as the first tears slip down his face. He’s crying, but not like he should be. He isn’t scared, or sad. He isn’t panicking, really. He’s barely even there. He barely feels like a person anymore.  
“I’m sorry,” George whispers, sincere as he can be when he can barely form a coherent thought. “I’m sorry. I should have called you. I should have asked you to come over. But I would never cheat on you. I swear on my life.”  
John studies his face, cold and unrelenting. He chucks his chin lightly, backing away just an inch. George’s knees had given out at some point and now, without John pressing him into the wall, he slides down and collapses in a puddle on the floor.  
John crouches down in front of him, stroking the hair from his sweaty forehead. It would almost feel sweet if not for the glare piercing George to his core. And then he stands, and leaves, and George is left to sob against the wall, frozen and burning, all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me happy chemicals <33333


	3. but what I can do is spit the truth, and it all leads back to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George comes out to Dream. Dream tries to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: very brief, non-descript mentions of homophobia

George hasn’t been online for three days. He’s afraid that if he were online, if he spoke to Dream, he might break entirely. He might tell Dream. He can’t tell Dream.  
On the fourth day, he makes a decision. He needs to talk to Dream. He needs some degree of comfort, of validation, but he can’t tell him what’s really going on. He wouldn’t understand. So he decides to tell the prologue to his story, and nothing more.

  
May 5, 2021 17:32

>dream< morning gogy  
>dream< I’m gonna do some mining on the smp. wanna join?

  
May 6, 2021 15:14

>dream< hey

  
Yesterday at 21:54

>dream< hey, sorry if I’m bugging you, just wanted to make sure everything is ok. no one’s heard from you in a few days now. I’m here if you need anything  
George’s fingers shake violently as he taps out:

  
Today at 12:04

  
hey, sorry, just had a lot going on lately >georgenotfound<  
I’m sure you’re still asleep rn so just call me when you get a chance, yeah? >georgenotfound<

  
George phone lights up immediately with a phone call from Dream.  
“Hey,” George says softly.  
“Hey, are you alright? You’ve been radio silent for, like, a while now, man.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just…” George tries to keep a handle on his breathing. He knows Dream won’t judge him. At least, logically, he does. They have a bunch of LGBTQ+ friends and Dream had never been a dick about it. But that doesn’t stop the gnawing voice in George’s head from telling him that Dream will be disgusted. He’ll be revolted knowing that he’d made so many lewd jokes with George over the years, and he’ll feel violated, and hang up, and never speak to George again. He knows it’s irrational. He knows it won’t happen. But that doesn’t stop the tears from tumbling down George’s splotchy cheeks as he chokes out, “Dream?”  
“Hey, hey,” he whispers, soft, like he’s trying to catch a wild animal. “I’m here. What’s wrong, Georgie? What happened?”  
“Dream, I need—I need to tell you something.”  
“Okay?”  
“I’m… Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” George mutters. He takes a deep breath and tries again, “Dream. I’m gay.”  
Dream is silent for a moment and George’s heart stops in his chest, a trapped fox, restricted, dying, but not being killed. Slowly starving to death, trying to gnaw itself free.  
Finally, Dream speaks again. “Is that it?” he asks, soft and sweet as ever.  
George bursts out in laughter. He’s still sobbing, but it’s just funny, ya know? This is arguably the most important conversation George will ever have in his life and, “Yeah, that’s it.”  
“Georgie,” Dream murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”  
George is hardly breathing. “What?”  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that made you think you couldn’t tell me that. George, I don’t care if you’re gay. I mean, I’m proud as hell of you for coming out, but I don’t care. You’re still my best friend. I still love you. No matter what. Always.”  
_He still loves me. I still have Dream. Everything will be alright if I still have Dream. _  
The tears streaming down George’s face don’t stop—if anything, they speed up—but they’re different now. The vivacious flow of a river, rather than the endless waves of an ocean. “Thank you, Dream.”  
\- - -  
_George is gay_. Dream can’t even process the words. George is _gay_.  
Dream has a chance.  
But that thought, tempting as it is, is quickly pushed to the back burner as Dream realises that George is still sobbing on the other end.  
He’s sobbing because of Dream.  
Somehow, in some way, Dream had managed to make George think that his love for him was conditional. Like it could be revoked for something as petulant as sexuality.  
"Georgie," he sighs, unsure of what to say. _Should I tell him I’m queer, too? No, no. Don’t make this about yourself. Should I make a joke? Lighten the mood? No, he’s too fragile for that right now._ A million options flooding his skull, filling it with cement so it drags along the dirt. He settles for, “I’m so sorry.”  
“What?”  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that made you think you couldn’t tell me that. George, I don’t care if you’re gay. I mean, I’m proud as hell of you for coming out, but I don’t care. You’re still my best friend. I still love you. No matter what. Always.”  
Now, George is really crying. Just sobbing, and rambling under his breath, something that sounds like, “Thank you, Dream,” over and over and over again. George finally composes himself and says, one last time, clear and strong now, “Thank you, Dream. You’re a good friend.”  
Dream’s heart shatters with those words, his previously pushed-aside idea roaring back to the surface.  
“George, I think—” Dream starts.  
At the same time George says, “Sorry, I’m just—”  
In sync again, they say, “You go.” They laugh awkwardly before George starts again.  
“I was just gonna say that I’m sorry for getting so emotional. I’ve just been really stressing out over this lately. John—that’s my boyfriend, by the way—god, I can’t wait for you to meet him. You two would get on so well—” George is still speaking, but Dream doesn’t hear a word of it. _Boyfriend_. He replays the word over and over in his head until it’s nothing but a shrivelled, distorted voice. _Boyfriend_. George has a _boyfriend_.  
“So, what were you going to say?”  
Dream is snapped out of his reverie to find tears streaming silently down his face. The phone in his hand trembles as he tries to form words in his pitiful, parasitic brain.  
“Nothing,” he manages at last. “Just that I’m proud of you, Gogy.”  
And George giggles. A sound that, on any other day, would have lit up Dream’s entire face, but now, it only serves to make him nauseous.  
\- - -  
Ending the phone call with Dream, George immediately rings John. He tells him that he finally came out to Dream, like John’s been bugging him to for weeks now, and that he told him about John, too.  
“Good,” is John’s only response. But it’s enough. It’s always enough. He’s happy, and so George is happy, too.  
John comes over a few hours later, and the two cook dinner together. They laugh and chat and snuggle up to watch a movie. It’s just like it was in the beginning, and George remembers why he fell for John in the first place.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me happy chemicals <33333


	4. I've lost all meaning. I've lost my sense of hope.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream finally meets John. His jealousy consumes him and he lashes out. George ends up paying the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: manipulation, guilt-tripping, emotional abuse, physical abuse (shoving, kicking)

Over the course of the next few days, George slowly opens up, filling Dream in on all the treasured moments George had wanted to share but felt he couldn’t. It makes Dream want to rip his own spine out and use it as a baseball bat. But George is so happy, he sounds so happy, and Dream wants nothing more in this world than to see George happy. So he forces polite conversation and pretends that he hasn’t spent every night this week cuddling his pillow and pretending it’s a warm body with dark hair and dark eyes.  
It’s about a week later that Dream finally meets John. He and George are coding a new challenge when he hears a door creak open on the other end.  
“Hey. Am I interrupting?” A deep, gruff voice.  
“John! This is actually perfect. I’ve been meaning to introduce you two.” Dream watches as George’s PFP disappears, replaced by George’s smiling face and, behind him, a tall, handsome man. With tangible glee, George says, “John, meet Dream. Dream, this is John.”  
Dream sputters for a moment, fumbling for something polite to say. He settles for, “Hey man, it’s so good to finally meet you. George has told me a lot about you.” _Too much. Asshole._  
John walks closer to the camera, so his forehead is cut off, crossing his arms in front of his puffed chest. _He’s posturing. Why is he—Is he trying to impress me or something? Or—Oh my god, you’re_ kidding. “Dream,” he spits the word like it’s made of acid. “It’s a pleasure.”  
_He’s jealous. He’s jealous of_ me.  
“Babe?” John starts, still looking dead into the camera, like a panther stalking its prey. “I think it’s about time to make dinner, don’t you?”  
George’s entire demeanour shifts. Usually so bratty and full of life, the George Dream knew would have told him to go make it himself. But this George just stared up for a moment, then back at the project they were so diligently working on, and hummed, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll go get started on that, then.” He turns back to the camera, smiling once more, warm and genuine. “We can finish this tomorrow, right Dream?”  
Dream can barely register what’s happening anymore. Something isn’t right. Something is so, so very wrong. He stutters out, “Uh… yeah. Yeah, no big deal, we can just… Finish this tomorrow.”  
“Okie, bye Dream!” John is still hovering while George says goodbye. It feels awkward, possessive almost. It pisses Dream off. So, he says goodbye, too. Exactly like he normally would. _Exactly_ like he normally would.  
“Bye Georgie! I love you!”  
He regrets the words the instant he sees the colour drain from his friend’s face. George leaves the call immediately, and Dream feels like the world’s biggest asshole.  
He flops down in his bed, replaying the entire interaction in his head, over and over and over again, until it’s so muddled and confused that Dream can’t quite picture John’s face anymore. He can’t exactly say he’s disappointed by that.  
Dream knows he screwed up. He was being a petty, petulant asshole, screwing with his best friend’s relationship just to regain some morsel of pride. He wonders if it was his tone in the beginning that made John so uncomfortable. He had tried to be polite, but maybe John could just sense something, and that’s why he was posturing. Maybe Dream had just been making a mountain out of a molehill, a jealous possessive boyfriend out of a merely awkward one. Maybe George was just hungry and didn’t feel like working anymore. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to get off the call with Dream so he could hang out with John instead.  
That night, Dream doesn’t cuddle his pillow while he falls asleep. He throws it across the room instead. He needs to put an end to this shit before Wilbur writes a damn song about him.  
\- - -  
“Bye Georgie! I love you!”  
The words George lives for, the words that fill him with an inexplicable warmth, the feeling of being loved, of being cherished, now wash over him like waves in the wintertime. George scrambles to end the call, like he can cut the words off before they reach John’s ears. But he can’t. Of course he can’t.  
“What the hell was that?”  
George swallows hard. He needs to stay calm. He didn’t do anything wrong. He knows this is just something Dream says. He says it to everyone. He probably didn’t even think about the way it would sound. So why does George felt so guilty?  
He drags his eyes upward, meeting John’s. They’re blazing with fury, sending him spiralling further into his own dread. Pathetically, he manages, “It’s just something he says. He says it to everyone, really, I swear. He’s just really affectionate.” He cringes as the words leave his mouth, knowing already that they weren’t the right ones.  
“Affectionate? George, you fucking moron, that _boy_ is more than just affectionate. He wants to get in your pants.”  
George chokes on what little air he had pulled. “What the hell are you on about? Dream is straight, first of all. And second of all, even if he wasn’t, he would never be interested in me. We’re best friends. Have been for years.” Unwisely, he adds, “You’re acting fucking insane.”  
John shoves George in his desk chair, toppling him over and onto the ground. George can already feel the splotchy bruises forming from where the arm of his chair slammed into his ribs. George rolls out of the overturned chair, kneeling on the floor, clutching his aching side. John shoves him back down, pressing his foot to his chest. “You wanna call me insane for defending what’s rightfully mine? Honey, I’ll show you insane.” He presses his foot down harder, crushing George’s sternum with each shaky sob.  
Words are falling unchecked from George’s mouth. Pleas, appeals to the man he thought he knew, just begging over and over, “Please, please, _stop_.”  
John lifts his foot ever so slightly, relishing in the sight beneath him as George takes desperate, heaving breaths. The ire in his eyes glows white-hot, delivering one last kick to his boyfriend’s ribs before turning and leaving the room.  
George curls in on himself, digging his nails into the pale skin of his arms, littering them with angry, red crescents, and curses himself. For what exactly, he isn’t entirely sure. Maybe for being on call with Dream, or for introducing them, or for not setting clearer boundaries with him. Maybe for not paying enough attention to John, or for being too pathetic to fight back. He doesn’t know what exactly went so wrong here, but he knows it was his fault.  
After some minutes, or maybe hours, George forces himself up, still clutching his bruised ribs, and drags himself into the bedroom where John is laying, scrolling on his phone like the entire world hasn’t been uprooted. And for him, it hasn’t.  
George stumbles toward the bed and John looks up at last, sighing and outstretching his arms for George to curl into.  
After they’re settled, George’s tear-stained face tucked safely into John’s collarbone, John murmurs into George’s hair, “You understand why I was so angry, right baby?”  
George nods imperceptibly.  
“I need to hear you say it, baby.”  
“I understand why you were angry. You had every right to be. I shouldn’t have let Dream talk to me that way.” The words rumble against John’s throat, punctuated by a small, hesitant kiss.  
Stroking his hair softly, John says, “I just love you so much. I love you so much and I’m so scared to lose you that it just makes me crazy sometimes.”  
“I know,” George whispers, the words soft and weak, more to himself than anything.  
“Say you love me, too, baby.”  
George rarely said those words, and never to anyone but his family and closest friends. He wanted to mean them, with every fibre of his being. But he was so tired tonight, so mentally and physically exhausted. Words, anyway, had lost their meaning months ago. Into the safety of a warm, nurturing body, George whispers, “I love you, too, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if y'all are getting bored with the style of these chapters yet. I know the format is kind of repetitive in these first few chapters while I was establishing the tone. But the story is starting to pick up now, so it should get more interesting from here. 
> 
> Next chapter: Stream finds out about George and John. George isn't happy about it and Dream is there to comfort him. 
> 
> Comments give me happy chemicals <333


	5. as long as you're happy, I don't care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stream finds out about John and George. George starts to spiral and Dream is there to pull him out, getting his first taste of just how cruel John really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: outing, fetishisation, emotional abuse

George and John are fighting again. It had become something of a regular event for the two.  
“I’m just not ready, John,” George sighs. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand how it feels to have so many thousands of eyes on you every single day. You never get to screw up. You never get to be scared, or sad, or stupid. Every word is scrutinised, picked apart. It eats you alive, John. I’m not ready for this to be scrutinised, too, ok?”  
John scoffs, spitting back, “Oh, but you’re fine letting them drool over you and Dream, then?”  
George groans instinctually. “Oh my god, John, I thought we were done with this. I told you, there is _nothing_ between me and Dream. That’s one hundred percent fan-based.”  
“Well, maybe if you’d stop gawking at his stupid fucking icon all day long, the fans wouldn’t think that in the first place!”  
“What the fuck does he even have to do with this?” George pulls at his messy, tangled hair. “This is between you and me and I’ve made up my mind. I’m not telling stream. Not until _both_ us are ready.”  
John steals his jaw, clenches his fists, and George cowers, bracing for first contact. But it never comes.  
“Fine,” he mutters, stomping off toward their bedroom.  
George releases the breath he was holding, slumping against the kitchen counter. He knows he’ll pay for this later, but for now, he has to get his shit together. For the viewers. For Dream.  
\- - -  
Tommy monologues in the background while George picks at his cuticles.  
“ _I have returned from the grave to avenge myself for the atrocities committed by this egotistical green bastard!_ ” A door creaks open somewhere down the hall.  
“ _I will stop at nothing to get my revenge._ ” Footsteps draw closer. George’s heartbeat picks up.  
“ _I won’t rest until I see green blood on my hands, taste copper in my mouth._ ” George’s office door swings open, and George scrambles to mute himself in call and to kill his stream’s audio and facecam.  
“On stream,” George hisses.  
“ _I won’t rest until you look as bloodied and beaten as I did in that cell, and then, I’ll deliver the final blow, and watch you fade away into the darkness of nothingness, you worthless, nipple-faced son of a bitch._ ” John looks at his monitor and smirks, swooping forward and capturing him in a kiss.  
George kisses him back, hoping to satiate him enough to be able to complete his stream in peace. A voice in his headset mumbles, “Uh, George?”  
George pulls back from John, turning back to his computer to unmute himself on call and let Dream know that he’s busy and he’ll be back in a second. But when he turns around, he’s consumed by nausea. He missed the fucking button. His facecam is on.  
He watches himself pale in the monitor.  
He unmutes himself on stream, mumbles a quick apology, and ends the stream—and the call—without another word.  
The tears are already welling up in his eyes, as he rises to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screams. “You knew my fucking facecam was on! You fucking saw that it was on and you fucking kissed me anyway when you knew how I fucking felt about it! You just fucking outed me in front of thousands of fucking people and lord knows how many more are gonna see the clips!” He falters, feeling the anger slowly drain out of him, only to be replaced with dread and resentment, guilt and a general sense of helplessness. “I-I just—I don’t even know what to say, John. I can’t even fucking believe you right now.” George can see the rage boiling over inside of his boyfriend, comforted only by a sick sense of pride in what he’s done. “Get the fuck out of my apartment. We can fight about this later. I can’t even look at you right now.”  
Surprisingly, John does as he says, grabbing his wallet and heading out, probably to go get plastered at the nearest pub, and George is left alone to sob into his pillow, as he’s done so many times before.  
His phone buzzes non-stop. Sapnap, Karl, Quackity, Wilbur, Bad—hell, even Tommy shoots him a text. But Dream is the most persistent. _Dream sounds nice right now_ , George thinks to himself, feeling drowsy and small. _Dream could fix this. Dream can fix anything._  
With shaky fingers and even shakier breaths, George answers the call. “Dream?”  
\- - -  
Tommy is monologuing about his murderous tendencies, as per usual, when Dream’s chat starts flooding with keysmashes as well as some less than respectful messages like “OMFG SO HOT” or “DREAM GO GET YOUR MAN” or “GEORGE GETTING SOME.”  
Dream is confused until a dono comes through, reading:  
**JAMIEPLAYZ donated $3.60**  
Dream, please let George know that his webcam is still on. I think he meant to turn it off.  
_Shit._  
Dream pulls up George’s stream to find him making out with John while his chat goes absolutely feral. He definitely meant to turn off his webcam.  
Dream checks their Discord to see that George is muted but not deafened. _Thank god._  
Dream mutes his own stream and mutters, “Uh, George?” George turns back toward his monitor, immediately seeing his mistake. Dream watches the confusion, the fear, the pain wash over him in waves. He would do anything to fix it, but he doesn’t know what he _can_ do.  
George unmutes his stream, stumbling through a quick apology. “Shit, um, I’m sorry guys, I meant to turn off my camera. I, uh, I have to go deal with something. I, uh, fuck, um, I’ll see you guys later.” He ends his stream and leaves the call.  
Dream unmutes himself, immediately shifting into damage-control mode. “Alright guys, pause. Everyone pause.”  
Tommy shouts, “There are no pauses in war!”  
“There are now,” Dream says, voice menacing. “This is serious. Everyone pause the game for a minute.”  
Everyone, even Tommy, hears the shift in tone and immediately pauses their game.  
“We’ve just had an incident occur on stream where one of our members neglected to kill their facecam during a very personal moment. I’m sure most of you in chat know what I’m referring to. I will be asking that you respect his privacy. I know this is bound to happen but I will request anyway that you guys do not tweet about this or clip it. That was a private moment that was not meant to be shared with the world.” The rest of the call goes silent, not entirely sure what’s happened, but sure that Dream sounds _pissed_. Everyone’s chats flood with heart emotes. Satisfied, Dream continues, “Alright, that’s it. Thank you guys in advance for being respectful and understanding. You guys can go back to the game now,” and promptly leaves both the call and the stream.  
Dream slumps over in his chair, haunted by the image of the blood draining from George’s face.  
He calls George seven times and texts him a dozen more. He paces his small office, feeling helpless, like a wild animal caged by his own skin. “Come on, come on,” he mumbles to himself. It’s an hour before his calls are answered.  
“Dream?” George sounds so small and scared, a child afraid of the dark. Nothing like the witty, independent Brit Dream knows.  
“George? Oh my god, okay, you’re alright. Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see when it first happened, I didn’t know and—”  
“Dream.” George’s shaky voice pierces Dream’s rambling. “It’s not your fault. It had nothing to do with you. It was me. I fucked up.” The sobs coming through the call are like a bullet to Dream’s heart. They cut off the rearing head of his anxiety, and he shifts back into the calm, collected figure he knows George needs right now.  
“Hey, hey,” Dream hushes. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. It was just a dumb, freak accident sort of thing that no one could have prevented.”  
“John could have,” George mumbles.  
“What?”  
“He saw. He’d been wanting me to come out to the fans for a while now. Said it was like I was embarrassed of him or something. We were fighting about it earlier. And he came in—maybe to yell at me again, I don’t know—and he saw that I hadn’t killed my webcam and he just… God, fuck, I’m such an idiot. I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have just agreed, made a video or whatever. I could have done all of this on my own terms and… Fuck. _Fuck_.”  
Dream festers in his own shocked silence. “He knew? He knew that you were on camera and he… Fuck, George, I… I don’t even know what to say, I’m so sorry. That’s so beyond fucked up and—wait, sorry, my brain is still, like, catching up, but you can’t seriously believe that this is your fault? George, he outed you _on purpose_ in front of thousands of people. That is, like, the definition of ‘his fault.’”  
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have had to do that if I would have just agreed, we could have done this right. We could have made a nice, respectful video instead of making out for thousands of people to see.” He pauses, then mutters, “Millions, probably, once this gets clipped.”  
“I asked everyone not to clip or tweet about it. I know there’ll still be some assholes out there who do, but most of our fans are respectful. You’re going to be okay, George. You’re not alone here. You know I’ll stand by you through anything.”  
“Thank you, Dream.”  
“So what are you going to do when John comes back?”  
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll talk about it. I’ll probably end up apologising or whatever. And then we’ll go back to how we always are.”  
“Wait, what?” Dream sputters. “Okay, first of all, I meant how are you gonna break up with him but clearly we’re on different pages here. So why the hell would _you_ be the one apologising?”  
“I dunno. That’s just kind of how it works for us, ya know.”  
“George. He _outed_ you. You should _not_ be the one apologising. Hell, he’s lucky I’m too far away to beat his dumb ass.”  
“Dream,” George sighs. “Please, just… Fuck, I wish I hadn’t even told you about that. I should have just kept my mouth shut.”  
Dream stumbles over his own rant. _George needs someone to be there for him. Even if I want to punt that little shit across the Atlantic, I have to focus on George for now._ “No. George, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. It’s your relationship. It’s up to you how you want to deal with it. I’ll always support you, no matter what, okay? I swear.”  
The line goes silent for a while. There are so many things unsaid, so many “I love you”s hanging on Dream’s tongue, so many half-truths clogging George’s throat.  
“You’re a good friend, Dream,” George murmurs into the phone, exhaustion overtaking him.  
Dream closes his eyes, pretends the words were different. “Well, you deserve the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two chapters in one day? I must have a major assignment due that I'm procrastinating on. 
> 
> Next chapter: During a particularly brutal beating, George thinks back to how he met John. 
> 
> Anyways, comments give me happy chemicals <33333


	6. oh, what could have been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George thinks back to the honeymoon phase of their relationship and wonders how they ended up here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied physical abuse

The smell of burning meat permeates the stark atmosphere, and George lie in the middle of it, sticky with sweat and blood, gripping onto consciousness. Gripping onto words, onto memories. Onto love he was promised and perhaps even given, once upon a time, so very long ago.  
  
_John stood across the room, glass of whiskey in hand, charming, mysterious, and utterly fixated on George.  
In the middle of a conversation, John had left his group and made a beeline for George. He always had a way of making George feel like the only person in the room.  
"Hi there," he said, sticking out his hand for George to shake. "I'm John."  
"George," he replied, warily, trying to find his voice in the shadow of such a handsome man. "It's a pleasure to meet you."  
"Oh, I assure you," John had whispered, leaning in closer, like it was a secret between the two of them. "The pleasure is all mine."  
They had spent the night getting to know each other, respective groups utterly forgotten. And at the end of the night, John offered to wait with George while he called a cab, to make sure he was safe. He was a perfect gentleman.  
A week later, they'd gone on their first date. To ensure their privacy, George had suggested that they stay in, have dinner and watch a movie. John, of course, was more than willing to oblige.  
They'd made spaghetti and meatballs together, laughing at how terrible of a cook George was, and they'd watched Edge of Seventeen and made slow, kind, passionate love on the couch.  
John was happy. George was happy._  
  
George had wanted to rekindle the magic tonight, had wanted to fall in love all over again, but his bad cooking wasn't endearing anymore after nearly a year of practice. He had been so distracted, worrying about John, wondering what mood he would be in when he came home from work, that he burnt the meatballs. That was what had broken their tower of cards. Burnt fucking meatballs.  
Maybe it was a silly thing to get mad over, but aren't they all? George figures the subject doesn't matter so much now that he's on the floor, trembling hand raised to bloody nose.  
And that night, for the first time in a long time, George prays. He prays to a god he doesn't even know he believes in, not for the pain to stop or for the beatings to end, but for just one last glimpse of the man he fell in love with.  
He falls asleep on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with the way this chapter turned out (it feels really awkward and forced to me) so I'll probably go back and edit it again tomorrow, but I wanted to feed your guys' masochism additions, so here you go <33 
> 
> Also, I know the source of the fight here being George burning the dinner seems sort of overdramatic but this is one of the parts of this book that is actually based off my own personal experiences, so yeah, please be nice. ANYWAYS. 
> 
> BTW I started a Twitter that isn't just pure spam, so here go ahead and follow if you'd like. I'm always looking for new friends :)) 
> 
> https://twitter.com/caseywond3r  
> @caseywond3r 
> 
> Comments give me happy chemicals <333


	7. is he better than me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George does his first stream since the webcam incident. Afterwards, Dream expresses his concern for George with a major gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: effects of manipulation (Stockholm syndrome-esque), mentions of physical abuse, effects of physical abuse (bruises, split lip)

George tried to stay offline until he’d healed up a bit, but he has a job to do and if he tried bailing out on the stream they’d been planning for weeks, Dream would have been way too suspicious.  
George opens his stream, reading the comments for a while and finding a surprisingly low number of gay jokes and homophobic comments.  
When his viewership reaches a decent level, George claps his hands together. “Alright guys, so we have a lot planned for today and we’re gonna hop onto the SMP in a second, but I just wanted to say first and foremost, thank all of you for the overwhelmingly supportive response to last stream’s incident. As I mentioned before, that was entirely accidental, but it happened, so I guess now, at some point, I’ll have to talk about. I’ll probably make a video talking a little bit more about all of that sometime this month but I’m gonna give you guys a chance to ask a few questions now if you have any. I would obviously ask that you all try to keep your questions appropriate and respectful.”  
**JBABYLOVESDREAM donated £25  
hi george! first of all I just wanna say I love you so much and I’m so sorry for what you’re going through right now. I wish you’d had the chance to come out on your own terms. If you’re comfortable answering, what exactly is your sexuality? **  
“Aww,” George coos. “I love you, too, JBaby. And yeah, I’m okay answering that question. I identify as gay.”  
The chat spams with pride emotes.  
**NIKSABERS donated £10  
Who was the guy from your last stream? Also, we all love and support you so much <3333 **  
George blanches. His tongue feels heavy in his throat. He checks for the millionth time to ensure that his camera is still off.  
He forces a laugh, tries to remember what it looked like to be in love. “That was actually my boyfriend. His name is John and we’ve been together for a little over a year now. I’ve been wanting to introduce you for a long time now, so I’ll probably include him in my coming-out video. Well, more like came-out video, I guess.” He forces another laugh and it feels easier than before. He’s getting too good at lying.  
**ELREYDELOSPUMPKINS donated £3.60  
how does dream feel about all of this? **  
George rolls his eyes fondly. He knows what they mean, but he’s going to answer as if he doesn’t. He’s seen far too much Jealous!Dream fanart as it is. “He’s been so supportive through all of this. He was actually the only person on the SMP that I was out to at the time, and he was so great about it. I honestly think the whole stream thing stressed him out more than it did me.” Another forced laugh. Always another forced laugh.  
His lip is almost bloody with the way he’s been biting it. He answers a few more questions, before saying, “Alright, guys, I think that’s about all the questions I’m gonna answer at the moment, but maybe I’ll do an AMA sometime soon.” The chat floods once more with loving and supportive messages.  
He joins the Discord, immediately being met by indecipherable screeching. Looks like Tommy’s online.  
“George! Come help me slaughter the child!” Dream shouts.  
“Okay, okay, let me log on real quick.”  
\- - -  
“George…” Dream whines once the stream is over. “Turn your camera on…”  
George just laughs, desperately pushing down the boiling anxiety in his gut.  
“George…” Dream whines again, louder.  
George giggles, barely hiding the bile in his throat. “No.”  
“You didn’t have your camera on for the stream either,” Dream points out.  
“Bad hair day.”  
Dream laughs, but pushes further. “No, but seriously dude, turn on your camera. I miss your stupid face.”  
“No, Dream.”  
“Oh, come on.”  
George really hates to play this card—he knows it’s a firm boundary for Dream—but he has no choice. “Fine. Turn yours on, too.”  
“Oh, come on, George,” Dream mumbles. “That’s not fair.”  
“It’s perfectly fair. I don’t feel like turning my camera on and you’re trying to force me.”  
“I’m not trying to force you. I just miss you. You’ve been practically radio silent all week.”  
George sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. There’s just a lot going on right now.” Another half-truth. How many has he told this call alone? How far away is Dream from truly understanding what’s going on in his life? In his head? How many years would it take for them to render out? To fade away from each other and the world with all the lies yawning between them?  
“Talk to me, man. I’m really worried about you lately.”  
George drops his head into his hands. “Dream,” he almost begs. “Please.”  
“George, I’m trying to give you your space here, I swear I am, but you’re scaring me. I _need_ you to talk to me.”  
George wants more than anything in the world to tell Dream what’s going on. He wants to have one person in this world who can make him feel safe, feel heard.  
“Dream,” he sighs, outwardly exhausted, inwardly scrambling to hold together the crumbling remains of his resolve. “I can’t.”  
Dream sighs into the mic. “George?”  
“What, Dream?”  
“Look at the call, George.”  
George grudgingly drags his head out of his hands. “What, Dr—”  
Golden hair and tanned skin decorate his monitor. Emerald eyes pierce the screen and pin George to his seat.  
“Dream?”  
Perfect lips bend around a perfect word. “Hi.”  
“Dream, you…”  
“Yeah, I know.”  
“I didn’t…”  
“I needed to do this, George,” Dream huffs, running his hand through his hair. “I needed to look you in the eye and tell you that I’m worried about you. You’ve been withdrawing lately. I thought it was just me but you’re not talking to anyone. Something is wrong and it’s eating you up inside.”  
“Dream… I told you—”  
“Don’t say you can’t, George. That’s bullshit and you know it. Tell me what’s really going on.”  
Dream’s eyes are more insightful than George had ever imagined, but they’re bloodshot and shiny and it makes George’s skin crawl. _Please don’t cry. God, Dream, please, please don’t cry._  
Trembling fingers reach for the video button.  
George listens as all of the air is sucked from Dream’s lungs, and his voice breaks on a single word. “George?”  
\- - -  
Dream has never had someone close to him die, at least not when he was old enough to truly experience the grief. But right now, he _grieves_.  
“George?” He breathes his name like a prayer, a plea for this to be some thoughtless, douchebag practical joke. But yellow and blue bruises mottle his porcelain skin, and his lip is split open, and this is _real_. Somebody did this to him.  
Dream’s face goes stone cold, jaw clenched, all emotion shoved away, eyes alight as he demands, “Who did this to you?”  
George stays deathly silent.  
“George, I swear to god, I’m about to book a plane ticket over there just to beat the crap out of whoever did that to you, so I’m gonna need a name.”  
Still silence.  
“George! Name. Now.”  
George flinches at his volume. _He’s afraid. He’s afraid of_ me _._  
Dream’s thoughts sprint off in a thousand different directions.  
_He’s afraid of me because I raised my voice.  
He’s afraid of the yelling.  
He’s been trained to be afraid of the yelling.  
Somebody trained him to be afraid.  
Somebody.  
No.  
No. _  
Dream wishes his camera wasn’t on as the tears stream down his face. “No,” he whimpers, shaking his head violently. “Tell me it wasn’t him.”  
Silence. Grave, misty, rotting silence.  
“George.” Frustration tinges his tone and he watches George flinch again. Every last fibre of energy within him goes into calming himself. “George,” he starts again, softer this time. “Did John do this to you?”  
A slow, stiff nod.  
Dream presses all the breath from his lungs, forcing himself to stay quiet until he can speak calmly. He refuses to make this worse for him.  
“George, are you safe right now? Is he there with you?”  
An equally hesitant shake of his head.  
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do, ok Georgie?”  
Wide, scared eyes look up at the camera.  
“I’m gonna book you a hotel room somewhere he won’t be able to find you. I’ll call you an Uber and you can go spend a few days there while we figure out where to go from here. If you want, I can fly out, or you can come here, or I can ask Wilbur to check in on—”  
“Dream.” It’s the first word he speaks, clear as a bell, not tearful or scared. Just one word. With nothing behind it. With everything before it. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
Dream’s mind struggles to catch up when George says the words Dream had begged to hear so many times before. “I love him.”  
It takes him a minute to process what he just heard, but when he does, all he can do is laugh. Because it’s a fucking joke. This is all such a goddamn fucking joke.  
“George, you don’t love him. I mean, look at what he did to you. Look at the pain he’s caused you. And even if you did, by some miracle, love him, he sure as hell doesn’t love you.”  
George's eyes flash with ire. “Yes, he does.”  
“No, George, he doesn’t. You don’t hit someone you love.”  
George pauses, worries his lip. “He doesn’t always hit me.” He says it like it means anything, chin held high, almost prideful.  
“George, are you even—” Dream cuts himself off, starting again, softer this time. “Are you even listening to yourself? I don’t care if he doesn’t ‘always’ hit you. He hit you at least once, probably more, and he’ll do it again. Do you really not think you’re worth more than that?”  
“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” George sighs, dropping his head back into his hands.  
“You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could ever possibly think that what he’s doing is—”  
A door creaks in the background and George leaves the call without another word.  
Dream is alone. With all of his thoughts clouding his brain, Dream is alone.  
He sees it. He sees George cowering in a corner while John beats him bloody. Sees him shrink away from his happy, bratty self, and transform into something smaller, more submissive. Sees him blend into the background. Sees him disappear.  
_Maybe if you’d been a better friend, he would have told you sooner, before it got this bad._  
Maybe if you’d told him you love him sooner, he wouldn’t have been here in the first place.  
Maybe if you’d loved him more, he would have felt it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost as long as the last three combined lol 
> 
> Side note: You are never responsible for somebody else's self-esteem. Dream is absolutely not at fault for George being in this relationship. When I write things like "Maybe if I had done [x], George would be happier," those are his thoughts and his way of blaming himself. They are not my personal thoughts on the matter at all. 
> 
> You're all valid and I love you <3333


	8. are you good enough to be his wife?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John expresses some concerns about George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: disordered eating, (inaccurate) fat-shaming

George hurries to shut his computer down and compose himself. Pushing the door open with a hesitant smile, he calls, "John?"   
George follows the gruff response into the foyer. He drapes his arms across his lover's shoulders and gives him a chaste kiss which quickly devolves into a passionate, scorching thing.   
George giggles and pushes weakly at his chest. "John, stop it. I have to start dinner.” He pulls away and walks to the kitchen, John trailing behind. “I'm starving," he groans.   
John just hums, almost sarcastically.   
"What?" George asks.   
"Nothing, nothing, just…" He looks George up and down. "Putting on a little chub there."   
George feels his cheeks go up in flames as he resists the urge to look down at himself. He doesn't feel like he's gained weight. His clothes don't feel any tighter.   
John stalks toward him again and grabs him by the hips, thumbs sinking bruise-deep into soft flesh.   
"I didn't notice," George mutters.   
"Oh, well," John says, almost reassuringly. "It's nothing you can't fix." He smiles and presses a kiss to George's cheek before leaving to change out of his work clothes.   
George feels too sick to eat that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, so next chapter will be up within the hour :)) 
> 
> Side note that the disordered eating (using that phrase cos George will not have a full-blown eating disorder and his food-related issues will take up a pretty minor part of this fic) here will be even more vague than the rest of the abusive scenes because it's actually a major trigger for me. I'm writing about it because I want to focus more on the recovery aspect and the idea of learning to love yourself and take care of yourself again. 
> 
> Y'all are valid and I love you <33333 
> 
> DMs always open at twitter.com/caseywond3r


	9. so this is not an act of spite. it's a visceral coming-to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream gives one final, desperate plea for George's safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: possessive behaviour, mentions of effects of physical abuse (bruises, split lip)

Dream doesn't text George that night, partially because he's still trying to process what he's heard and partially because he doesn't know if he can trust that John won't check George's messages.  
The next morning, though, he sends a carefully-worded message, and just prays George doesn’t decide to spend another week in radio silence.  


  
**hey, need to talk to you about yesterday’s stream. don’t know where we’re going with this plotline. call me when you can. >dream<**  


  
\- - -  
George wakes up feeling warm and safe, tangled in his lover’s arms.  
He nuzzles his face deeper into John’s neck with a soft sigh.  
“‘Morning, baby,” John mumbles, pulling George impossibly closer. Sleep tints his voice, the whole scene feeling terribly domestic.  
“Good morning,” George murmurs, placing a chaste kiss to John’s throat. He wriggles around in his grip, turning to check the time on his phone. “Well, good almost-afternoon,” he corrects, shutting his phone and burrowing back into his boyfriend’s chest, only to find he’d gone stiff.  
“You had a text.”  
George hums. “I had a few texts, but nothing that can’t wait ten more minutes while I get my morning cuddles.”  
“You had a text from Dream.”  
“Dream can wait,” George whines. “I want my morning cuddles.”  
John pushes George coldly away. “Why don’t you answer it?”  
“I will…?” It takes a moment for it to click in George’s mind. “I’m not hiding anything from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You know you’re free to check my phone or my computer whenever you want.”  
“Yeah,” he huffs. “That’s why you won’t even check your messages while I’m next to you.”  
“I thought it would be rude to interrupt our morning by texting someone else.”  
“Sure.”  
George realises there’s no winning here.  
_What if Dream mentions what I told him yesterday?  
No, not over text. Dream is too smart for that.  
But what if he’s not?_  
George takes a leap of faith and hands his phone over to John. “Check for me?”  
John eyes him suspiciously before opening his phone and reading aloud, “Hey, need to talk to you about yesterday’s stream. Don’t know where we’re going with this plotline. Call me when you can.” He hands the phone back to George, seemingly sated.  
“See?” George asks, relief overriding impatience. “It’s just business. Nothing to hide.” He wraps his arms back around his lover, hiding a knowing smile in John’s warm, strong chest once more.  
“I love you,” John mumbles, in place of an apology.  
“I love you, too, babe.”  
\- - -  
It’s an hour before George texts him back, and even then, it’s just to tell him that he can’t call for another hour. Dream paces impatiently while he waits, skull overflowing with feelings of failure and bitter malice.  
But eventually, the call does come. For an instant, Dream wishes it were a video chat, but then his traitorous brain conjures images of his best friend’s split lip and bruised cheek. “George?”  
“Yeah.” The voice sounds crackly, raspy in a way Dream can’t just blame on shitty WiFi. “I’m here.”  
“Just you?” Dream asks hesitantly.  
“He’s at the supermarket. I probably have an hour before he comes back.”  
Dream heaves a sigh of relief before starting in on him. “What the fuck, man? You just dropped that on me and then _left_. I was so worried all night. I’m so worried _now_.”  
An almost indecipherable, “I’m sorry.”  
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be safe.”  
“I am safe,” George assures him. “I really am, I promise. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for dropping something like that on you when I knew from the start that you wouldn’t understand. I should have just kept it to myself.”  
“George,” Dream sighs. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep this to yourself. I’m glad that you felt safe enough to tell me. But you’re right. I don’t understand why you would ever, _ever_ think that you deserved something like this.”  
George is quiet for a moment before saying, “It’s really not that bad, Dream, I swear. I was just being dramatic.”  
“George, I saw the bruises.”  
“That was my fault.”  
“What could you have _possibly_ done—” Dream cuts himself off, chastising himself for shouting again. “What could you have possibly done to deserve that, George?”  
George goes silent for a moment. He mutters something unintelligible.  
“I can’t hear you, George.”  
He tries again, only a sliver louder than before. “I burnt the dinner. It was our one-year anniversary and I burnt the dinner. That’s why he got mad.”  
Bile rises in Dream’s throat. He swallows it down, relishing in the burn, before responding. “George. You have to know this is wrong.”  
“It doesn’t matter if it’s wrong, Dream.” _Don’t say it, don’t say it._ “I love him. More than anything else in this world, I love him.”  
The tears Dream’s been holding back for the past twenty minutes come streaming down his face, now. Desperately, one last plea for salvation, Dream opens his mouth and his reverence spills out. “And _I_ love _you_. More than anything else in this world, _I_ love _you_ , George. You’re the sweetest, funniest man I’ve ever met, and you make me smile every time you come online, and I would do anything in the world to erase the pain off your face right now, to make you smile, because you are so, so beautiful when you smile. And I know how to love you, George. Maybe not perfectly, maybe I could have done it better, and maybe if I had then you might not have felt so low about yourself that you thought you had to settle for a pathetic, abusive, monstrous son of a bitch. But I do love you, George. I’ve been doing it half my life and I intend to do it a hell of a lot longer. And I know this is terrible timing, but I had to tell you now. I had to make you see that you _are_ loved by someone who truly knows what love means, who would rather die than cause you pain. Please, please,” he begs. “Don’t make me watch the love of my life go through this.”  
George is silent for an infinite moment on the other end of the line.  
“You really love me?” he asked softly.  
A prayer, “More than anything.”  
Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t, and Dream floats on the feeling of loving, of being loved.  
“Then, you’ll never say that again.”  
Dream feels the floor drop out from beneath him.  
George continues, “I see how badly this is hurting you and I’m sorry. I meant it when I said I wish I had never placed this burden on your shoulders. But I don’t love you, Dream.”  
Dream’s heart pounds in his chest, yet it feels like it’s stopped. _I don’t love you, Dream. I don’t love you, Dream. I don’t love you, Dream._  
George maunders on. “I’m sorry. You truly are my best friend, and I never intended to hurt you like this. But I love John and I can’t just leave the second things get rocky.” He pauses, then adds, “And if you truly love and respect me, then I think you’ll understand that.”  
_And this must be what it feels like_ , Dream thinks, _for your entire world to fall apart_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for this chapter and I'm sorry in advance for next chapter. I have done bad things :)) 
> 
> Comments give me happy chemicals <333


	10. tonight, I'm fucking drunk, so it's all gonna be about me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George suffer the consequences of their respective confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mild manipulation, physical abuse, vague suicidal ideation

Dream doesn’t know how much time passes between George’s words and his own, but he suspects it’s a lot.  
When Dream’s mind finally comes back online, he forces the words off his tongue, bitter and messy. “I understand.”  
“It’s nothing to do with you. You’re an amazing guy and—”  
“Save me the speech, George," Dream snaps. "I get it.”  
“Dream, please don’t—”  
“Don’t what?” Dream breaks into a bitter laugh. “Don’t get upset? George, you picked a man who beats you bloody over a man who’s been by your side since you were nineteen years old. I think I have the right to be a little ticked.”  
“I didn’t mean it like—I didn’t want it to be like—” George fumbles pathetically for an explanation until Dream cuts him off.   
“You should go, George. Loverboy’ll be home soon and you don’t want him to catch you talking to me.”  
“Dream, please…" George begs, his voice raw with unshed tears. "I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings, but please, you’re the only person I have left. I _need_ you.”  
What’s left of Dream’s heart shatters at the way George pleads with him. Softer now, kinder, he says, “I’m sorry. That was fucked up, what I said. I’m just… Fuck, man, I’m _hurt_. I’m really fucking hurt right now and I just need some time. Just a couple of days to get my shit together. And then I’ll be back and everything will be okay again. I promise.”  
Dream listens to George’s soft sniffling, wishing more than anything to take that pain away. “You’ll be back?” he asks, sounding so much smaller, so much more scared than he should ever be.  
“I’ll be back,” he promises.  
“Okay.”  
“Okay.”  
\- - -  
George is alone.  
For the first time in years, George is utterly and truly alone.  
He plays the words over and over again in his head until they’re distorted, empty echoes of themselves.  
_The sweetest, funniest man.  
So beautiful when you smile.  
Love of my life.  
Don’t get upset.  
Picked a man who beat you bloody.  
By your side since you were nineteen.  
Really fucking hurt.  
Need some time.  
Everything will be okay again. _  
\- - -  
The next day is a really fucking bad day.  
George can’t even remember how the fight started, but he knows it ended with him pinned to the wall, bruises renewed, left eye swollen shut.  
A single thought breaks through the pained haze in George’s mind. _I want Dream._  
And more petulantly, like a child missing his favourite toy, _I want my best friend._  
And as he slinks to the floor, aching and exhausted, George thinks just how lovely it would be to stop existing altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was planned to be excruciatingly painful but then it got split into two parts because I am mentally exhausted and could not handle writing it all today. So basically, you get an extra 24 hours of anticipation before the super angsty part :)))) 
> 
> Also, I wrote a super long author's note explaining how both Dream's and George's respective actions are immature and harmful but it contains some spoilers, so I'm going to attach it to next chapter instead, so for now, let's just suffice it to say that I absolutely do not support either of them in their actions throughout last chapter, this chapter, and next chapter. This is a work of fiction and they are very flawed characters. 
> 
> On a happier note, we get a Sapnap appearance next chapter :))) (I may mostly write DNF but I'm an absolute Sapnap bitch. I kin so hard, it's almost pathetic.) 
> 
> All my love <3


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